The major smiled grimly. "I thought so," he said. "The Interior Department knows the situation. I've joined forces a good many times with the Indian agent here to protest the situation. You know that as well as I do."
"That doesn't change the facts," Brady insisted. "I'm not blaming you. Major. I just don't feel like hounding Inyo any more. I figure he's taken enough."
The major nodded. "Brady, I'm going to play my
ace, and I hope it works well enough to change your mind." He tapped the telegram on his desk with his index finger. "Sherman's headquarters has just advised me that the Interior Department is now willing to transfer this band of Coyoteros to the San Carlos Reservation in the White Mountains. But they won't approve the removal until and unless Inyo brings his renegades down out of the hills and back to the reservation. He's done too much damage and killed too many people. The Government wants him where it can watch him before it does him any favors."
All the while he spoke, he was watching Brady s expression-a growing, unconvinced frown. "It smells," Brady said. "Of what?"
"Cow dung," the scout answered bluntly. "It sounds to me like just another empty Washington pohticos' promise to trick Inyo into returninjg to the reservation."
"I don't think so," the major said. "For one thing, this is over General Sherman's signature. Sherman does not make empty promises. For another thing, feelings are getting pretty high in the East about this whole Indian problem. Nobody's Ukely to put up with any more Washington double-dealing on this question. They're all remembering what happened to Custer a few years ago. I think they'd rather make the Indians happy than go through that again."
Brady was nodding but the major noticed that the frown remained. "I'll think about it," the scout said. He stood up and put on his hat. "I'll think about it," he said again, nodded to the major, and went out of the room.
Rubio swung away from the corner and followed on Brady's heels.
As the major put the telegram in a drawer, he heard the heavy tramp of Sergeant-Major McCracken's returning footsteps. The sergeant-major's bulk filled the doorway and his deep-throated voice filled the room:
"Captain Harris is bringing his troop in from scout detail," he announced.
"All right," the major said. "Thanks, McCracken." He got up and walked out toward the parade ground.
Captain Justin Harris left his half-troop of dry and dusty cavalrymen under the expert command of Sergeant Mitchell Andi-ews, and rode his own leg-weary horse across the parade ground to the commanding officer's office. The major was standing on the porch, a bull-shouldered, level-eyed officer, twisting the points of his mustache. Down the row of buildings Harris saw Will Brady and Pete Rubio leading their horses into the stables.
Dust was a fine, gritty coating on everything- including Hanis's lips and cheeks and eyelids.
Heat still held its heavy hand against the earth; shadows were long and red-tinged. As he dismounted, Harris had a glimpse of McCracken s heavy shape bent over the desk inside the front office.
He saluted the major tiredly and left his horse's reins in the hand of the trooper who came up for them, and stepped up onto the porch. The adobe waU was pink in the low sun's hght. Harris's lean frame moved with the stiffness of a long journey. His voice was an unhurried Virginia drawclass="underline" "We went up the Smoke to Tilghley's Ford and made a swing around through Spanish Flat. No sign of Apaches up that way. We came back along the foothills of the Arrowheads, and two mornings ago we came onto a bunch of hoofprints. Unshod horses. We followed the trail and at noon we found Vic Manter's wagon. Remember him, Major?"
The major nodded. "Itinerant trader."
"Called himself the Apaches' friend." Harris said. "The wagon was burned to charcoal. They'd staked Manter out over an anthill. There wasn't much of him left—we buried it. Then we followed the tracks up to where they split up in the foothills and the trail petered out."
'Inyo's bunch?"
"Yes."
"Come inside, Justin."
Harris followed him inside and waved back Mc-Cracken's informal salute. He left the door open to the major's office and stood relaxed, waiting while the major opened a drawer, pulled out a telegram and handed it to him.
HaiTis read the message and handed it back. "I see," he said. "This business with Manter won't help Inyo's chances any."
"No," the major said, "it won t. A few more raids like that, and the Interior Department vidll take back its offer." .
Harris looked through the window toward the Arrowheads, now turning indigo, violet and salmon-red under the rays from the setting sun. "I guess it's likely to be a long, bloody summer, Major."
"Maybe," the major repHed. "And then again, maybe not. I want you to stand ready to go up there with Brady for a powwow with Inyo. We still may be able to talk him into coming back peacefully."
Harris nodded. He turned back toward the door and said, "I want to get a few pounds of dust washed off."
"Just a minute. Captain."
It was the major's formal use of the word "Captain' that halted Harris. He turned to face the major, half-unconsciously bringing his lean body to attention.
"There's something I have to ask you," the major said. His hand came up to twist the end of his mustache. "This is a small post, Justin. Talk runs aiound pretty fast here. "Talk?"
"Talk-about you and Mrs. Sutherland. Is there anything to it? I'd better know, Justin."
Harris could see that the major was both troubled and embarrassed by asking the question. "Did Captain Sutherland make a complaint. Major?"
"No. He did not. This is purely gossip, third-hand at best. But it has come to my attention and I think I ought to know about it." The major seemed to grow abruptly conscious of the severity with which he was twisting the point of his mustache; he dropped his hand self-consciously to the desk top and let it He there. "What's the truth of the matter, Justin?"
"I've had a few words with her from time to time," Harris said. "Nothing more than that, Major." "There's nothing between you, then?" "Not on my part, at least." Harris realized he was giving answers that were ambiguous. He tightened his fists at his sides and felt his jaw creep forward.
Major Cole looked down and picked at a fingernail. "It would be improper of me to pry further, I think. But I ought to caution you about a couple of things, Justin. This kind of talk must spring from some source. And as I said, it makes the rounds in a considerable hurry. If it continues, it might make a good deal of trouble for you-both from George Sutherland, and from Sadie Rand, if she hears of it. She is your girl, isn't she?"
"I like to think so," Harris answered, bringing up into the front of his mind a clear image of the blonde girl's clear-eyed features. "Is that all. Major?"
The major giamted. "Damn it, I don't like this any more than you do. Don't stiffen up on me—I've seen enough of that today. Just pay heed to an old soldier's advice, Justin—and spike these rumors before they go any fiuther."
Harris shrugged his wide, loose shoulders. "I'm not sure how I'd go about doing that, su," he said. He saluted and went out.